


Lovers Live a Little Longer

by spikesgirl58



Series: ABBA/Foothills [25]
Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 10:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a snow day in Jackson.  With the power out and no place to go, how will Napoleon and Illya amuse themselves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovers Live a Little Longer

Napoleon came awake with a start and kept perfectly still until he realized there was probably no reason to do so.  It wasn’t like he was an agent anymore and could be waking up to a room full of THRUSH goons.  He opened his eyes and the total darkness surprised him.  A glance at the clock revealed that it was off and that’s when he became aware of the wind, a great groaning wind that shook the window panes in their frames.

Wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets, Illya stirred, but didn’t wake.  The room was cool, but Napoleon knew the thermostat was set low at night and the house, in spite of its many shortcomings, was well insulated.  They had a fireplace if push came to shove, but if the power was out here, it would be out in the restaurant.

“A _mante,_ wake up.” He stroked Illya’s shoulder, but the Russian pulled away, mumbling in his sleep.  Napoleon had to pause there to weigh his options. He could wake Illya and run the risk of him being mad at being awakened or he could let him sleep and have him be angry for not being woken up.  Either way…  Napoleon leaned close to an ear and said distinctly, “Illya, I need you.”

The lump stirred and a second later, Illya murmured, “You, of course, have a good reason for this.”

“The power’s off.”

“And?”

“The power is off.”  He paused for effect.  “Is the restaurant okay?”

“The walk ins can hold their temperature for a few hours and we have generators for after that.”  Illya pushed the blankets away from his face.  Napoleon could just barely make his profile out in the near darkness.  “What’s that noise?”

“The wind.”  Napoleon gritted his teeth and pushed his way out of the bed.  Shivering, he pulled on his robe and walked to the window.

“What time is it?”  The question was groggy.

“Early, I guess.”  Napoleon pulled the curtains back and stared out.  He couldn’t see anything distinct, just a sense of movement.  It took him a moment to realize it was snow.  “We’ve got a white out.”

Illya managed to untangle one arm from the sheets and reached for the phone.  At the lack of dial tone, he hit the disconnect button twice and then returned the receiver to its cradle.  “Phone lines are down too.  That’s new.  Usually the phones never go out.”  He got his watch and squinted at the dial. “It looks to be about five.”

“Looks more like midnight out there, it’s so dark.”   Napoleon gave up trying to see anything and walked back to the bed, only to be greeted by two hopeful faces.

“I don’t feed you, Illya does,” he protested as a twin chorus of meowing started.

“Congratulations, you are about to take your place in a brave new world and learn my secret.  They don’t care who feeds them and since you’re already up….”  Illya had nestled back under the covers and Napoleon made a face at him.

“All right, you two.”  Napoleon found his slippers and knotted his robe more tightly about his waist.  He paused at a small hallway table to grope inside for a flashlight and slowly made his way down the stairs.

Downstairs the wind sounded even more eerie, howling and whistling.  Napoleon played the beam of light around the room, just checking before walking into the kitchen.   After a long moment, he found some candles and lit several, then rooted around in a drawer until he found a hand operated can opener and opened a can of cat food.  _Moutard_ and _Berra Noir_ acted as if their last meal had been days in the past as opposed to a few hours ago.  They wound around his ankles, meowing and pleading with him to move faster before they expired from hunger.

The thought chilled him and he wasted no time building a fire.  This he was an old hat at and it only took a few minutes before the kindling and log had caught, warming the room with both its heat and light. The flicker of the flames made the area, just moments ago cold and forbidding, now warm and comforting.

That set, he went back and checked the coffee.  It also was done and filled the room with a familiar and welcoming smell.  He assembled everything and then headed back up stairs.  He poured himself a cup and set it on his bedside table.  Then , grinning, he pulled off his robe and slippers and slipped into bed, wrapping cool hands around his lover’s waist.

Illya gasped at the contact, but exercised judgment in keeping any cracks to himself.  Napoleon nodded knowingly. _Ah, the power of coffee,_ he thought as he pressed up against Illya’s back, letting warmth flow between them.  He felt a stirring in his groin and grinned.  _And something else was waking up too_. 

He wasn’t in a hurry though.   Even though Illya hadn’t said a word, Napoleon knew he was awake and weighing his options.   “I have coffee.”  He nuzzled Illya’s hair, close to his ear and Illya rumbled something indistinct.   Napoleon thrust his penis against Illya’s lower back suggestively. "Or something else, if coffee isn’t quite the wake-up call you want.”

“Mmm, decisions, decisions… can I have both?”

“Yes, but which one to start?”

Illya took one of Napoleon’s hands and guided it to his groin.  Napoleon grinned as he wrapped his fingers around Illya’s extremely ready-for-action dick.  Apparently Illya had been waiting for him.  “Does this answer your question?”  He rocked his hips, thrusting into Napoleon’s fist,

“It does sort of drive home a point, yes.”  But Napoleon wanted something else today.  “You feel like pitching?”

“Never have to ask me twice.”  Illya rolled and Napoleon moved with him so that they lay groin to groin and Napoleon enveloped both of their penises together in his hand.  It was about all he could manage.  For just a moment he stroked them, smiling at the sensation of flesh against flesh and of his hand moving.

He felt Illya’s mouth on the tender skin of his neck and he brought his free hand up to cradle the blond head.  Neither of them was in a rush this morning and Illya kept his ministrations slow and leisurely, his kisses gentle and relaxed. 

Napoleon loved these rare occasions when neither of them was frantic for release, both willing to take a slower path to completion.   He closed his eyes and just felt, letting Illya take on the role of the dominant one this time. 

Illya dragged his fingers down Napoleon’s back, the blunt fingernails lightly scratching his skin as they moved to cup and squeeze his ass, kneading very much the way a cat would need a pillow. 

Illya’s other hand moved to a nipple and Napoleon gasped as those clever fingers rolled and pinched him lightly.  He wanted to go on forever just like this, just feeling, enjoying the tactile sensations and then Illya’s fingers roamed a bit more, dipping closer and closer to run teasingly over his perineum.

Napoleon disentangled his fingers from Illya’s hair and reached for a drawer.  He didn’t need light to find what he was looking for.  The nearly empty tube was still enough for the moment and he fumbled the cap off and squeezed as much as he could onto Illya’s outstretched fingers.

He sighed as those fingers resumed their quest, now pressing in and withdrawing, tantalizingly slow and gentle.

Illya moved his hips and Napoleon belatedly realized his hand had stopped.  He began to pump again, pausing now and then to roll the rough pad of his thumb over the tip of each penis.  Illya moaned at the contact, tipping his head back in obvious delight, and Napoleon took that moment to begin to lay a path of small nips down the tender skin of Illya’s throat

Illya, in turn, expressed his delight by adding a second finger to the first, pressing  them in steadily, working to stretch the tight entrance just enough to give both of them pleasure. He dipped in a third and Napoleon teeth clamped down in response and watched Illya’s grin became a grimace.

“Roll over,” he ordered softly. “I’m going to fuck you.” Napoleon shivered at the command.  Illya so rarely swore and usually only during sex, that it was near instant aphrodisiac for him.  “How do you want it?”

“I have a choice?” Napoleon rolled onto his stomach and lifted his hips.  He nearly groaned in delight as he felt Illya positioning himself.

“Absolutely, as long as it’s the one I pick.”  Illya pressed forward, just his glans slipping in and now Napoleon did give his delight a voice.  His lover immediately stopped.  Unlike Illya, who wanted it all at once, Napoleon preferred a slower approach and was secretly delighted that Illya seemed to be willing to oblige… this time.  “You feel so good,” Illya ground out.  “You’re so tight, you’re killing me.”

Napoleon pressed back encouragingly and Illya happily obliged, moving in a bit more, rumbling his pleasure as he gained each fraction of an inch until nothing remained between them, not seemingly even air.

Illya nudged Napoleon’s prostate and smiled at the response.  “Mmm, there you are…”  He started to pull back and just as Napoleon was about to protest, he realized Illya was pulling him back with him until they both knelt, Illya supporting both of them. 

He knew how strong Illya was, but he often forgot, especially during moments like this when he was being so gentle.

“Don’t move,” Illya ordered softly, sucking an ear lobe the way a baby would nurse a nipple.  He rocked easily back and forth and Napoleon moved with him, his breath catching each time his prostate was rubbed.  He reached behind him, clutching Illya’s thighs in a grip he knew would leave bruises, forcing their bodies even closer and all the while Illya swayed.

One of Illya’s hands took Napoleon’s penis and worked it in a sure steady pace until Napoleon suddenly arched back and gasped.  There was a moan behind him and he knew Illya was achieving his own little piece of Nirvana.

Illya started to pull out and Napoleon tightened his grip.

“No.”

“What?”  Illya stopped from withdrawing. “Did I hurt you?”

“You’re still hard.”

“I came.”

“I know, I could feel you, but you’re still hard.”

“Always for you.”

“Then again, and this time your way.”

“You’ll be sore.”

“I don’t care.”

“You sure?”

“Illya, please.  I want…”

“What?”  Illya increased his pressure against Napoleon’s body.  “What do you want?”

“More.”

He felt, rather than heard, Illya chuckle.   “All right, but I need to change positions.  Roll over on your back for me.”

Napoleon felt Illya slide out and almost wanted to cry at the hollow, empty feeling that followed.  He dropped and immediately grabbed a pillow to prop up under his lower back as Illya rummaged through the drawer for another tube of lubricant.

“I can’t believe how fast we go through this stuff,” he muttered, twisting the cap off a new tube.  “We should buy it in bulk.”

“We do.” Napoleon argued, watching him with eager eyes.  Illya didn’t even bother to run the lube in, just smeared a generous dollop onto the tip of his penis and grinned.

“You want something?”

“Jesus, Illya, don’t tease.”  Napoleon used his best ‘I’m your superior, so do as I say voice.’  “Please?”

Illya grinned.  “That’s how I like my men… “

“Demanding?”

“Needy.”  Illya lifted Napoleon’s legs to his shoulders, positioned himself and thrust, just once, not pausing until Napoleon was accommodating his entire length.  Napoleon tipped his head back, not bothering to hold back the sharp cry of pain/pleasure the movement had created.

Almost immediately Illya started moving, no longer casually, but with a driving purpose.  Napoleon grunted each time Illya slammed forward.  Napoleon found his own penis, rock hard almost to the point of pain and worked his fingers on it, knowing what he enjoyed and needed. 

He wasn’t far from his climax and he let it sweep over him, not worried that he had preceded Illya again.  Now he concentrated on Illya’s face, watching the emotions playing across it.  He saw a familiar grimace and knew what it meant.  In that instant Napoleon reached up and grabbed each of Illya’s nipples, pinching them.

“Yesss,” Illya hissed out, moving faster.  “Now!” he ordered and Napoleon applied as much pressure as he dared as Illya sobbed through his climax.  He pinched again and again until he felt Illya stop throbbing.

Illya eased Napoleon’s legs down off his shoulders and let his now flaccid penis slip from Napoleon.  He stretched out on top of Napoleon and kissed him passionately while still rocking his penis against Napoleon’s pubic bone.  They were both panting and their skin was flecked with sweat and semen.

“That was incredible,” Illya conceded, dropping his mouth to Napoleon’s neck and licking the pounding artery there, willing it to calm.  “Thank you.”

“Mmm, thank you, couldn’t have done it without you, nor would I have wanted to.”  Napoleon grimaced slightly.

“I warned you it would hurt.”

“It’s not that, I’m lying on the stupid cap.”  Napoleon slid a hand beneath him and pulled the empty tube from beneath him.  “It looks as spent as I feel.”

Illya chuckled.  “I imagine you do.  Why don’t you draw us a bath and I’ll go reheat the coffee.“  Dipping in for one last kiss, Illya rolled off his partner and reached for a pair of jog pants. 

Napoleon watched him, still too sated to think about moving.  Instead he listened to the wind howling outside.  “Sounds like that storm is really going to town out there.”

“I don’t remember one this big this late in the year.”

“Wish I said that… oh you said year, not rear.”

“Oh, Napoleon,” Illya groaned as he sat to pull on some socks.  “Your puns are going to be the death of me one day.”

 

Napoleon had just eased himself down into the deliciously hot water when the bathroom door opened and Illya entered, carrying a tray.  In the flickering candlelight, Illya looked almost ghost like.

He poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Napoleon, poured a second one for himself.  He set it down on the clothes hamper, stripped, and climbed into the bathtub to settle back against Napoleon.

“Mmm, this is nice,” he admitted as one of Napoleon’s arms encircled his waist.  “Why don’t we do this more often?”

“Bathe together?”  Napoleon paused in his pursuit of nuzzling Illya’s neck.

“Slow down and enjoy each other.  Does it seem to you that we are on a mad run most days?”  Illya picked up a slice of zucchini bread and held it for Napoleon to bite.  He finished off the other half, chewing, his eyes half closed in pleasure.

“Hmm, maybe this is someone’s way of telling us to remember what we have in front of us.”

“Or behind us, in some cases.” Illya leaned back with a sigh.  “It was so dark outside, that I couldn’t believe it, so I opened the front door.  The snow had drifted nearly up to the top of it.  For some reason, both cats opted to use their cat box instead.”

“I imagine by the time they got down to ground, they’d both be little kitty popsicles.”  He settled against the sloped back of the tub and closed his eyes in contentment.

The water was cooling to tepid and Napoleon was about to ask Illya to toe on the hot water when he realized that his lover was just about asleep.

“Hey, let’s get you to bed,” he murmured into an ear.

“Been there, sort of tired at the moment, but if you want...”

“To sleep, my lusty Russian, I’m about to lose you and I think bed will be more comfortable than an ice bath.”  Reluctantly, he sat up and Illya grumbled something before hoisting himself out of the water.  He wrapped a bath sheet around himself and held one out to Napoleon as he mirrored the action.

“Christ, it’s cold up here.”  Napoleon rubbed the towel over his body quickly, resisting the urge to let his teeth chatter.

“And it’s not going to get any warmer.”  Illya pulled the plug and cracked the water back on.  That would keep the pipes from freezing.  Napoleon knew Illya had one sink constantly dribbling in the restaurant’s kitchen and that was the reason for it.  Illya had fixed it so that no well-intending employee could turn it off during the winter. 

As Illya was blowing out the candles, Napoleon walked back into the bedroom, still slightly damp from the bath and glared at the two cats stretched out across the bed’s surface.  “We seem to have an issue here.”

“Correction, you have an issue, I have a need.”  Illya lifted the covers and _Moutard_ rolled with the action, protesting as he went.  “When you start paying rent, I start listening to you.”  He dropped the towel and climbed in.  “You changed the sheets.  When?”

“While I was waiting for the tub to fill,” Napoleon waited for him to shove his way to his side of the bed and then followed.  “They were begging me for a rest.  One nice thing about military training, I can change a bed in four minutes flat.”

“And this is why we continue to trounce you, militarily speaking.”

“We?”

“They?   Them? I’m never quite sure.”  Illya nestled down into the blankets and pillows and shivered.  “It’s as cold in here as it is out there.  English is a very confusing language.”

Napoleon spooned up behind Illya, gathering him into a much loved armful.  “One might say the same thing about certain Russians.  They can be very… confusing”

“True, but I strive for it.  English accomplishes perplexity with very little effort or regard for the speaker.”  Illya yawned.  “Love you.”

“Love you more.”

“I know, but you can’t help it, you’re just a weak American.”

“Weak?”  Napoleon’s arms tightened and Illya sighed contentedly.  Napoleon belatedly realized this was exactly what he wanted.  He kissed the damp blond hair and closed his eyes.

 

 

 

Napoleon woke to an empty bed and howling wind.  It was even louder and he swore he could actually feel the house shifting in the wind gusts.  A quick check to his watch told him it was just after two, but it looked like dusk out; the day was so dark and gray.  Heaving a great sigh, he climbed from his warm haven and shivered in the air, hurriedly dressing in clothes he’d thought to lay out earlier in the morning.

He skipped putting shoes on, preferring to pull heavy wool socks over his cotton ones.  It was how he’d dressed growing up in Vermont and if it worked there, it would work here.  He only took two steps down the stairs and his stomach began to grumble with anticipation of the smells that were drifting up.

The living room was a direct contrast to the upper rooms, it was warm, almost too warm and Napoleon thought about pulling off the sweater he’d layered over his turtleneck, but decided to wait.  He knew from the smell alone where Illya was.

There was a mighty gust and the house cracked a warning back at it.  Napoleon looked around, hoping the place would hold up.  Of course, it was built nearly a hundred years earlier and was still together.  That had to count for something.

He hurried down the rest of the stairs and went directly into the kitchen.  All the curtains were pulled back and numerous candles were lit, making the room almost bright in comparison to everywhere else.

Illya was sitting at the table, reading by candlelight and he looked up and grinned.

“I was beginning to wonder when you’d wake up.  You were sleeping like the dead when I got up.”

“Something exhausted me this morning.  No idea what though.”  He kissed the whiskered cheek and settled into a chair beside him.  ”What’s going on down here?”

“I went out to check the restaurant and your shop.  The whole town is just about buried.  That big oak tree beside Areceli’s place came down and it’s blocking the main road.  She’s okay, although it did take out part of our parking lot fence.”

“Not the spot where the snowplow nicked it last month… not the part that we just finished replacing.”

 Illya pushed the paperwork towards him.  “We can kiss that thousand bucks good bye.  Her insurance will cover it, of course, but it’s the sheer irony.”

“We don’t fix it now until May.”  Napoleon was distracted by his nose.  “Whatever you’re making smells incredible.”

“Just roasted chicken.  I didn’t want to start anything else until I knew you were up and at least half aware of your surroundings.” 

“Half aware?”

“Fully aware and I get nothing done.” Illya got up and leaned forward for a lingering kiss, his lips and tongue caressing Napoleon’s mouth.  “I have to cook.”

“Hmm, I’d say you were cooking already.”  Napoleon’s hand found Illya’s groin and massaged it through the heavy jeans he wore.

“I suspected something along those lines.”  Illya handed him a bottle of wine.  “Fondle this instead.”

Napoleon sighed, removed his hand and took the bottle.  He read the label and shook his head.  “You’re serving a Napa red with chicken?”

“I needed something very robust.”

“A French Bordeaux would do it.”

“This will be fine.” Illya turned the stove off and cracked open the oven door.  He drained a pot of water and dumped new potatoes into a strainer.   Napoleon watched him shake them once, return them to the pan and put it back on the stove. That accomplished he grabbed a couple of white dishtowels and pulled the chicken from the oven.

Napoleon uncorked the bottle and set it aside to let it breathe.  He stood and looked over Illya’s shoulder, inhaling deeply.  “Mmm, that smells and looks incredible.”

Illya grinned, “You smooth tongued rascal, wooing me with your pretty words.”

“What?  Where did that come from?”

“I read it off the back of a paperback while I was standing in line at the store the other day.”  He cut the string holding the chicken together and removed a bit of the golden skin, holding it back over his shoulder for Napoleon.

Napoleon sucked it off his fingers, but refused to release them again.

“I sort of need those fingers to carve with, my love,” Illya murmured, closing his eyes and licking his lips.

“Are you sure?  We could just eat it right off the bone.”

“Barbarian,” Illya muttered, shrugging out of Napoleon’s embrace to wash his hands.  He checked the potatoes, added a dollop of flavored butter to them and turned on a third pot.

“What’s in there?”  Napoleon helped himself to another piece of chicken.

“Green beans.  It was either use ‘em or lose ‘em.  Why don’t we eat by the fire?”

“Sounds good.  How did you get the skin like this?”

“Massaged it with olive oil.”

“Massaged?”  Napoleon grinned widely.  “Remind me of that later.”

 

Napoleon rested his head on Illya’s thigh and stared into the fire.  Outside the storm continued to blow, but seemed to have very nearly blown itself out.  The gusts were growing more and more infrequent.

He sat up slightly to reach for his wine glass and studied his partner.  Illya had a contented look on his face, his eyes half shut, just the hint of a smile lurking about his lips.  Napoleon loved it when Illya got this relaxed because it meant one thing to him.  In this sort of mood, Napoleon could ask and pretty much be assured of the truth.  It took a long time to work through Illya’s barriers and there were many areas of his childhood that were still a mystery to Napoleon.

He held the glass up for Illya to take a drink out of and settled back down, stroking random patterns on the Russian’s thigh.  “What was it like, Illya, having so many brothers and sisters?”

“Insane mostly, but also comforting.  Knowing that you aren’t alone, that you have a built-in support group … well, until you come out of the closet and then it’s anyone’s game.’

“They didn’t approve?”

“The only other time I heard my father use that kind of language was the first time Vyetka caught me masturbating.” Illya dropped his head and chuckled.  “That was an interesting discussion to say the least.”

“Which one?”

“Both actually.”  Illya picked up his own wine glass and drank.  “Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered.  I mean, there were times when my sister made me crazy and there was just her.  What did you do for privacy?”

“Just to give you an idea of how bad it was, I joined the Navy to get a little ‘me’ time.”

“And how did that work out for you?”

“I’m here, _da?_ ” Illya answered and drained the rest of his wine.  “Besides on those long assignments, chances are the guy jacking off beside you was your commanding officer.  They were very long deployments.” He fingered Napoleon’s dark hair and sighed.

“Was it hard for you?   To come out, I mean?”

“It wasn’t pleasant.  My mother kept asking what she’d done wrong and up to that point, I didn’t think of it as wrong.  In fact, it was the first time in my life I felt right.  Only to be assured that I was now tainted, a deviant, and the scourge of polite society.”

Napoleon emptied the rest of the wine into Illya’s glass.  “I’m sorry.”

“Why?  It wasn’t your fault.  However it was quite the wakeup call for me.  I learned soon after that it didn’t really much matter what other people thought of you as much as it mattered that you thought well of yourself. I am not ashamed of who I am.”

“I was…” Napoleon let the comment trail off.  He’d not meant to head down that path, but knew there was very little way of avoiding it now.

“What?”

“Back in Chelsea, I was popular, top of my class, athletic, class president, the whole nine yards.  I was pretty confident and way too cocky.  That all changed the first semester I went to college.  Little fish in a very big pond.  I was invited to join a fraternity and went to my first mixer,” he broke off to laugh.  “I was working the crowd and happened to come upon a group of young ladies who were offering up comments on the ‘talent’ as they referred to us.”

“I take it you did not fare well?”

“They used phrases like hick, dumber than dirt, stunk like a cow.”

“Ouch.”

“I was hurt, furious, embarrassed, all of the above and decided to leave.  I was at a near run and plowed into a young girl, knocked her off her feet, literally and figuratively.”

“Let me guess, the young girl destined to be your wife.”  Illya glanced down, still caressing Napoleon’s hair.

“Got it in one, partner. I often wondered, what would have happened if I’d confronted those girls, I’d have never met Joyce, probably never joined the Army, or UNCLE for that matter.” Napoleon reached up and caught Illya’s hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing it tenderly.  “Or met you.”

“And how blissfully uncomplicated your life would be now.”

“And I wouldn’t change a second of it, not if it meant giving up a minute of my time with you.”

“Thank you,” Illya murmured.  “But I think that we have another more pressing problem on our hands.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s going to be too cold to sleep upstairs even if the power does come back on.”

“So we sleep down here.  Problem solved.”

“The lube is upstairs…”

Napoleon smiled slowly, tipping his head back, so that it rested against Illya’s crotch. “Hmm, now that is a problem.”

“And we are out of wine…”

“Desperate times, desperate measures.  I’ll get the wine.”

“Coward.”

“Opportunist.” Napoleon sat up and caught Illya’s head, holding it still as he kissed his partner thoroughly, savoring the taste of him as Napoleon worked his tongue around and into all the small crevices of Illya’s mouth.  “There’s a little something to keep you warm on your cold trek up the stairs.”

“Keep me warm?  How about making it impossible for me to move?” Illya grumbled as Napoleon retreated enough to permit Illya to climb to his feet.  Illya adjusted his pants with a grimace.  “You’ll be the death of me, Napoleon.”

“Better me than at the hands of an enemy.”

Napoleon watched Illya move stiffly up the stairs before picking up their dirty dishes and glasses and heading into the kitchen.  He rinsed everything off and put them into the dishwasher, then gathered up a bottle of port he’d been saving.  He stopped for a moment by the back door and opened it a crack.  A bitter wind immediately blew a mini blizzard of snow in and he hurriedly closed it again.  The wind might have scaled back, but it was still miserable out.

He returned to the living room, just as Illya was settling another log on the fire.  He set the bottle and glasses down and began to rearrange the pillows Illya had brought from upstairs.  Once he was satisfied, he stretched out on them and reached for the blankets.

Illya glanced over at him and slipped out of his jeans and yanked his tee shirt over his head.  Napoleon grinned at the sight of a very erect penis pointing in his direction.

“Well, what you lack in polish, you more than make up for in sincere intent,” Napoleon said, grinning. He pulled off his own sweater and pullover and skimmed out of his pants.  Tossing them up onto the couch, he again laid back and was rewarded by his partner’s immediate presence.

“You’re freezing,” Napoleon complained, pulling him closer.

“Mmm, it’s very cold upstairs.” Illya snuggled closer and trapped a hand under his body.

“What are you doing?”

“This.”  Illya pulled his hand out and wrapped it around Napoleon’s penis.  “But it was too cold at first.  It would have been a detriment to my purpose.”

“Still a little cold,” Napoleon gasped, but that didn’t stop him from moving, closing his eyes in delight at the friction Illya’s fingers provided.

Illya leaned forward and he engulfed the tip, working his lips and tongue over the silk soft skin, applying gentle suction.  He pulled back just a fraction of an inch and blew tantalizingly across his saliva.  “Better?”

“Much.”  Napoleon leaned back on the pillows, permitting Illya free rein.  He knew he’d ultimately take control, but for now, he was happy to abandon himself to his lover’s tender ministrations.   And they were, indeed, tender.  Illya had a true gift for oral sex, something Napoleon had delighted in discovering when they’d reunited, something he’d lacked during their first go-round. His appreciation had grown over the years and he loved watching Illya, watching that talented mouth and tongue work him until he was just this side of frantic.

Just as he was about to crest, Napoleon reached down and pulled Illya’s mouth off his penis, almost wanting to cry out at the loss of the moist warmth, but he knew it was nothing compared to what he was seeking.

Illya rolled and stuffed a pillow beneath the small of his back, his eyes half closed, his lips slightly swollen and parted, gasping as Napoleon eased lube-laden fingers into him.  Illya tipped his head back clamping his muscles around the fingers until Napoleon added a third.

“Do you want another one,” Napoleon asked softly, waiting for the nod before continuing, slipping the thumb of his other hand in and frowning at the flash of pain that blasted across Illya’s face. Probably too much, but he wasn’t stopping now, not unless Illya asked him to.  Instead, he slowed and worked his fingers carefully until he saw the pain dissipate, replaced by something much more basic and raw.

He removed his fingers one at time and positioned himself, pushing in with one firm fast thrust and he grinned at Illya’s responding groan, a mixture of pain and pleasure.  When Illya had initially insisted upon this, Napoleon had worried he was hurting his partner.  Now he knew it was just Illya’s very vocal appreciation of sex.

He set a pace that was neither frantic, nor too languid, but an easy rhythm that gave them both a mutually enjoyable ride, at least until Napoleon could hold back no more and upped the pace.

Illya slammed back into him with as much force as his position permitted, his thighs trapping Napoleon until he could do little more than rock, pressing up against Illya’s prostate until neither of them could stand a second more.

His climax actually bordered on the painful and Napoleon ground out Illya’s name, holding Illya still as his penis throbbed and ached.  He half sobbed in relief after that, letting the spasms quiet as Illya did the same, Illya’s hand gently fondling his own, still twitching penis.

“That was…”

“It certainly was.”   Illya swallowed, still panting from the exertion. "You never cease to surprise me, Napoleon.”

“Well, far be it from me to let our love making get old…” He winced as he shifted from his kneeling position.  “… unlike my knees,” he finished, stretching out a hand to find the damp washcloth he knew Illya had brought down with him.  He cleaned Illya lovingly before turning his attention to himself.

“This has been nice,” Illya said, staring into the fire.  “We should have these more often.”

“A long screw by the fire place or a snow day?”  Napoleon languidly fingered Illya’s sweat damp hair.  “It takes a force of nature to slow you down enough, my love, to have one of these.” 

“True.”  Illya readjusted a pillow and sighed.  “The only reason this worked was because the rest of our world stopped as well.”

Napoleon kissed his temple, letting his lips linger on the salty, so soft skin there.  “Do you know how much I love you?  How much I need you?”

“Yes, just a fraction less than I you.”  Illya grinned up at the ceiling.  “Unless , of course, this is some clever ploy to get me to get up and fetch dessert.”

“No, I just had dessert, thanks.”  Napoleon slid his hand around to fondle Illya’s genitals, just making sure there was no more attention needed.    He was sure he could muster the strength for one more blow job, but was secretly relieved the penis there seemed as limp as its master.

Napoleon knew tomorrow the world would start on its grinding path back to normalcy, digging out, shoveling off, but tonight, it was just him, the man he loved, and the fire.  Tonight, that was just enough.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
